Demon Lord IV - Lord of Shadows

by T C Southwell

  "Indeed you shall." Bane slid his hand up to clasp her neck, making her shiver. The dark power within him rejoiced at the prospect of her demise, which his words had promised, and urged him to fulfil them. He admired the courage of this fragile creature, but just how brave was she?

  Syrin gasped as black shields shot up from the ground around them, filled with swirling red sparkles. Cold power radiated from them in sickening waves, and she glanced around with wide eyes, her wings spreading. Bane tightened his grip.

  "Do not struggle."

  "My Lord, please..."

  "Do not beg."

  Syrin gazed up into his black eyes, struck by their chilling emptiness, like bottomless pits of ebon ice. The ground beneath her feet vanished, and she fell into darkness, a scream of terror locked in her throat. She grabbed Bane, hanging on to his tunic as they plunged downward at a horrifying rate, yet no wind rushed past them. As abruptly as their fall had started, it stopped, and her knees buckled as she found herself standing on a stone floor crazed with glowing cracks.

  Bane glanced about, and Syrin realised with a shudder of dread that she was in the Darkworld. Several demons moved past them, casting them cursory, disinterested glances. Undoubtedly they would have been interested if she had been alone, but the presence of a dark god ensured that they did nothing.

  Bane released her neck and took hold of her wrist, leading her towards a dark tunnel in one wall. "Shall we go and visit Vorkon? He might like to meet you."

  "No!" She dug in her heels.

  Bane stopped and turned. "Why not? Are you afraid of him? You are not afraid of me, so why would you be afraid of him?"

  "Why do you want me to fear you? Why have you brought me here?"

  "Why do you think?"

  "To kill me?"

  Bane smiled. "Clever angel."

  "Kayos will revile you!"

  "No, he might be a little disappointed, that is all."

  "Why would you want to kill me? What have I done?"

  Bane released her wrist, and she fought a strong urge to throw herself at him and cling to him. There were no Channels within her reach, and those that she sensed were poor distorted things, unused for millennia. Doubtless no angel had ventured down here since the domain had been created, and the Channels were a mere spill-over from those that networked the world above. Bane was the only way out of this horrible place, and she wanted to beg for her life, but heeded his previous warning.

  "You are arrogant, Syrin," he said. "You dare to accost a dark god and demand favours. Granted, you offered your aid, and indeed you did help me. The light gods might feel honour-bound to grant your wishes in return for your aid, I do not."

  "I -"

  "Be quiet. The dark power within me exults at the prospect of your death. Do you fear me now?"

  "Yes."

  The Demon Lord regarded her, then glanced around as a fire demon approached. It veered off and vanished down a dark tunnel. Bane looked down at her again, tilting his head.

  "What do you want of me?"

  Syrin was stunned, her mind blank with dread. "I... I cannot tell you. I must show you, and you must decide what to do."

  "Will you guide me?"

  "Yes."

  A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Evidently angels have more poise than humans. A human girl would be hysterical by now, unless they were particularly brave." He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. "I am a liar, Syrin. All dark gods are. Did you believe that I would kill you?"

  "Yes."

  "Good." He glanced around. "I used to live in a place like this. I was born in my domain's Underworld."

  "How is it possible that I am alive here?"

  "I am protecting you. If I stop, the fire will consume you."

  "Why did you do this?"

  He met her eyes. "All things must learn, even angels. You may be thousands of years old, but you know nothing of tar'merin. Even as you teach me, so must I teach you. Arrogance does not go down well with dark gods, nor does spying, arguing or your unwelcome presence. Who can harm an angel? Who would?"

  "Only demons, and you."

  He nodded. "If I was so inclined. Even Kayos respects me. The dark power is like a beast that I have not yet tamed, only leashed. Without it I am as mild as he, but with it I am dangerous. I had no intention of killing you. Do you believe me?"

  "Yes."

  "I hope this little favour of yours is not going to take too long."

  "You wish to cast out your power?"

  He sighed. "I must. Its hold grows stronger all the time."

  "You are using it up now, are you not?"

  "Yes. Using it is easier than casting it out."

  "How long can you do this for?"

  "Quite a while." He held out his hand. "We should go."

  Syrin took it, steeling herself for the strange rush through darkness, but instead there was an instant of utter cold, like needles in her skin, then they stood within the black shields once more. Bane waved his hand, and they vanished. Kayos and Drayshina stood some distance away, talking. Kayos spotted them and walked over, Drayshina following. Both looked relieved to see Syrin unharmed. Bane released her hand, and she moved away as he regarded the two light gods with a cynical smile.

  "Well, a lesson learnt by all. Never trust a dark god, even when he threatens to kill an irritating angel. Chances are, he is lying."

  "Bane..." Kayos shook his head in chagrin. "Do you have any idea how difficult you are? How impossible to predict?"

  "Yes, impossible. Is it me, or is it the dark power?"

  "It is a dangerous game you play."

  "It is not a game."

  The Grey God nodded. "All right. What is it then?"

  "A lesson in humility for an arrogant angel."

  Kayos glanced at Syrin. "That is not what I meant. You play a game with the dark power, tempting it and then denying it."

  "That is how I shall master it."

  "You are running before you have learnt to walk."

  Bane snorted. "Do you think me a fool, Kayos?

  "No, I think you are a tar'merin, whose power is at odds with his nature. A dangerous combination that led to the demise of all the ones before you."

  "Dark gods destroyed them."

  "Because they hated themselves even more than they did their enemies. You are heading for that path too."

  Bane gazed at him, then glanced at Drayshina, whose eyes shimmered with tears. "I have been travelling that path for some time now. It is well known to me."

  "Then you must leave it."

  "It is hard not believe myself to be a monster when everybody treats me as one. You would not fear my power if you did not believe me capable of using it to harm you."

  Kayos shook his head. "It is not you whom we distrust, but the dark power within you."

  "And it feeds upon your fear."

  "I would have thought that a lack of fear would have goaded it, perhaps beyond your control, as we thought Syrin had."

  Bane sighed. "It does. But not beyond my control."

  "Not yet."

  The Demon Lord turned to Syrin. "Let us be off upon your little quest, angel. I tire of this conversation."

  "At once, My Lord. We must travel to a distant land, far to the east, to a place called Andar's Cove."

  Bane closed his eyes, allowing his power to find the location, and Moved. He reappeared in a field outside a village that must have once been picturesque, but was now covered, like everything else, with grey ash. Sunlight bathed rolling meadows and tracts of dead woodland, and the unnatural silence hung heavy in the air. Smoke rose in gentle swirls from the chimneys of the thatched houses, drifting away on a soft breeze. The light made Bane squint, and he set off towards the sparse shade of the nearest trees as Syrin stepped from the air beside him. Just within the wood, Bane turned to survey the village again, then looked at Syrin.

  "Is there an army approaching?"

  "No, My Lord. If you will come with me, I will show you."

 
; Bane followed Syrin around the village, staying mostly within the shelter of the woods, until they arrived at a dilapidated cottage, its walls cracked and its thatch sagging. Syrin stopped and turned to him.

  "If you would cloak us from the sight of people, we should go closer."

  Bane obliged, and they walked to a tree at the edge of the yard, stopping in its skeletal shade. A few minutes passed, and Bane had started to grow impatient when the cottage's door opened, and a thin girl dressed in rags came out carrying a pail. She emptied the slops into the gutter, then walked over to the woodpile with dragging steps and hanging head. Bane's eyes narrowed as he noted the bruises on her thin arms and the dried blood on the back of her dress. Her tangled blond hair was bound in a thick plait down her back, and she appeared to be about twelve years old. She picked up an axe that looked too heavy for her and began to chop the wood.

  Bane glanced at Syrin. "What is the point of this? There are many poor people in every world."

  "Wait and watch."

  Bane sighed, then formed a seat and sat down. The girl handled the axe awkwardly, lacking the strength to wield it effectively, and the pile of wood remained small even though she worked hard. As the sun descended, the cottage door opened and a strapping, hirsute man shambled out. Gravy stains dappled his dirty shirt, and his greasy blond hair hung into his brutish face, from which blood-shot blue eyes glared. From the way he reeled across the yard, it was evident even to the most ignorant observer that he was exceedingly drunk. As he approached the girl, she dropped the axe and retreated, looking frightened. The man glared at the pile of faggots that she had cut.

  "Is this all you've done, you lazy cow?" he bellowed. "You've been out here all afternoon!"

  Bane raised his brows at Syrin. "Your one favour of a dark god is to settle a family dispute?"

  She watched the man stalk his terrified daughter, her eyes filled with sadness. "Yes, My Lord. He beats her -"

  "Many men do."

  "That does not make it right."

  "Nor does it require my intervention. Gods do not meddle in such petty matters."

  Syrin turned to him. "Sometimes they do, My Lord. Do not suppose that you know so much about your kind. You are new to their ranks. That girl prays constantly to the goddess, but Drayshina can do little for her."

  "I suppose you want me to strike him down? Any mortal could do that for you."

  "No. Killing is not always the answer. That would leave her fatherless and her family destitute."

  Bane closed his eyes. The girl's spirit shone with pinkish purity, but the man's was a mixture of light and dark, a swirling, pulsing red and blue glow. "He is tainted."

  "But not yet evil. If he is killed now he will be unable to enter the Forever City, nor will he descend to the Darkworld. He will remain here, trapped. But aside from that, his children love him, and he loves them. He is a woodcutter, one of the few trades that survived during the dark days, and when this world returns to normal his family will need him. If he dies, they will go hungry.

  "He has been led into evil by drink, which opened him to the darkness. He will beat her, and then he will be overcome with remorse, and turn to drink for comfort, which will open him to the darkness again. You know something of what it is to be torn between good and evil, do you not, My Lord?"

  "So what do you want me to do?"

  "That is for you to decide." Syrin turned to watch the man, who had fumbled open his belt buckle, and was tugging it from his waistband. The girl cowered beside the woodpile, weeping.

  "Why does she not run?"

  "He is her father. She fears him, but still loves him. She blames herself for his rage, and so will accept his beating."

  Bane snorted. "How is it possible to love a man as loathsome as him?"

  "It is possible, as you know."

  He cast her a sharp glance. "You draw parallels between that man and myself? You think me loathsome?"

  "No, My Lord, not anymore. But there was a time..."

  Bane frowned, then turned to gaze at the man and his daughter again. The woodcutter beat the child, who knelt before him, her hands clasped over her head, begging him to stop. The scene brought back unpleasant memories, and the dark power rejoiced at the sight of the girl's pain, trying to infect him with its vicious delight. He thrust away its evil influence and contemplated several methods of ending the man's brutality, all of which required the woodcutter's humiliation. That, he realised, was the dark power's influence again. It longed for the suffering of either one of the two people before him, and it did not care which. He pondered for a while, aware of Syrin's growing impatience and intense study, as if she was trying to read his mind.

  Rising to his feet, he stretched out a hand towards the man. Syrin tensed and bit her lip. Bane motioned, and the wisp of darkness within the woodcutter obeyed his summons and leapt across the gap to sink into his hand. The man staggered as the evil influence left him, along with the alcohol's mind-numbing euphoria. He froze, his arm raised, and stared down at his weeping daughter. Lowering his arm, he frowned at the belt, then cast it away with a vicious flick of his wrist. He fell to his knees and gathered the child into his arms, weeping with her as he begged for forgiveness.

  Bane turned to Syrin. "There, problem solved."

  "For now. You have ended this episode, but he will drink again, and the darkness will enter him again."

  He glared at the man. "What more can I do?"

  "You are the god, think like one."

  Bane sighed, glancing at the cottage, where a dirty, timid woman peeped around the door at her husband and daughter. "The root of the problem is the drink that allows the evil to enter him."

  Bane walked to the cottage, brushing past the woman, who yelled and fled to the dubious safety of her husband, crying in alarm. The low ceiling forced Bane to duck, and he glanced around at the shabby interior. Spotting two barrels of ale in the corner, he went over to them and laid his hands upon them. The barrels bulged and burst, spewing foul, stinking sour ale onto the floor. Again he turned to Syrin in triumph, but she shook her head.

  "He will buy more."

  "You never stop, do you?"

  "You are not thinking like a god yet."

  Bane snorted, his nostrils flaring with irritation. "Fine!"

  Swinging away, he strode to the door, colliding with the woodcutter as he entered with his axe gripped in a white-knuckled fist. The man staggered back, dropping the axe, then turned and fled in terror from the dark god's invisible presence. Bane ignored him and marched into the street, heading for the centre of town. Syrin trotted behind him, looking puzzled and concerned.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Thinking like a god."

  Bane reached the central square and stopped, gazing around. The sun sank in a medley of delicate colours, and the three inns that bordered the square filled with patrons as labourers came to enjoy a night's drinking after their day's work. The sun's return had brought the village men employment clearing away the ash and ploughing their fields in preparation for new crops. The Demon Lord spread his hands, and shadows drifted from his fingers, writhing like black snakes.

  The darkness detoured around Syrin's feet, but still made her shiver at its malevolent proximity. Bane muttered guttural words, commanding the dark power, and moment later dull explosions came from within the taprooms. Rivers of sour ale flowed from the inns and several houses, and men rushed out to vomit, pale from the terrible stench. Bane raised a hand and wrote a shadow rune in the air.

  "Drajaran," he muttered, and hammered it into the ground with a blow of his fist. It vanished into the dirt road, leaving a black scar. He turned to Syrin. "There. Now they are cursed. No ale or wine will ever remain good in this town again, whether they brew it here or bring it in. It will turn sour."

  Syrin gazed at the men who retched outside the inns and the pools of sour beer soaking into the ground. "You have punished all for the sin of one."

  "So?"

  "That is not fair."<
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  "It will do them good. They will spend more time with their families."

  Syrin sighed. "They will be unhappy. And the farmer who beats his daughter could move to another village."

  Bane flung up his hands. "What more can I do?"

  "Think like a god."

  "I am!"

  "No, you are not."

  He loomed over her and wagged a finger under her nose. "I am growing tired of this."

  "What is the root of the problem?"

  "The drink!"

  "No."

  He scowled at her. "The man?"

  "Yes."

  With a growl, he turned and marched in the direction of the farmer's house.

  Syrin trotted after him. "The curse?"

  Bane made a negligent gesture and muttered, "Arnabesh."

  Syrin glance up at his scowling face. "What do you intend to do to him? You must not kill him."

  "So you have said, but I may yet, in lieu of killing you."

  When they reached the cottage, Bane thrust open the door and entered, ducking in the nick of time. The family sat before the fire, over which a pot of stew bubbled. The man held his daughter on his knee, and three young boys sat at his feet. His wife, who had been about to scoop a ladle of stew into a bowl, gasped and dropped it when the door flew open. She ran to hide behind her husband, who stared at the open door, his eyes wide. Bane shed his invisibility, leaving Syrin shrouded. The family gaped at him, frozen with shock. Bane beckoned to the man.

  "Stand up."

  The woodcutter thrust his daughter into her mother's arms and obeyed, unable to stand up straight under the low roof. Bane had the same problem, and disliked it. He turned and walked to the door, where he paused.

  "Come with me."

  Outside, Bane turned to face the man again.

  "Who are you?" the woodcutter demanded, recovering a little of his aplomb. "What do you want? Are you a black mage?"

  "No." Bane shook his head. "I am a dark god."

  The man stepped back, raising his hands in a warding gesture. "I've done nothing to earn the wrath of a dark god!"

  "Stand still."

  The man shook with fright, whimpering, "I've done nothing."

  "You beat your children."

  "I'll stop!"

  "Yes, you will."